Know Your Place
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: He pushed her away and backhanded her, but it was light and not particularly impassioned. He seemed more bored by her than anything. Written for Round 4 of the Last Ship Standing Competition, and for Weekly Quick Fic #4 on writerverse.


Author's Notes: Written for Round 4 of The Original Horcrux's Last Ship Standing Competition on the HPFC forum with the prompts _someone must hit someone else; nostalgia; hatred_, and for Weekly Quick Fic #4 on writerverse with the prompt _just one more_.

)O(

Since the escape from Azkaban, Bellatrix had eagerly awaited the night when she was strong enough to spend a night with the Dark Lord. The waiting was agony, but she endured it nonetheless, for nothing would have been worse than going to his bed and finding herself too weak to please him.

When she was finally sure that she had the stamina not to become exhausted halfway through, and the weight and strength that she would not be in danger of injury in a particularly impassioned moment, she went eagerly to his bedchamber, and there she sat, perched on his bed, her heart beating quickly with excitement and nerves, and awaited him. As she sat there in the darkened room, she imagined their reunion, or an idealised version, how she wanted it to be. She wanted her Master to descend upon her, take her in his arms and tell her how he'd missed her, then take her into bed and release fourteen years of desire…

The door opened, and Bellatrix straightened herself. "My Lord."

"Bellatrix." He sounded vaguely surprised, and not altogether pleased. "I do not believe I invited you here."

She rose, her breathing quick and her hands trembling. "I- I have missed you so, my Lord… I could not bear to spend another night apart from you. Surely you understand."

"I understand, but I do not approve. You may leave."

Bellatrix felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. She reached out and caught onto his robes and pulled him roughly, desperately towards her in an attempt to bring him close, to kiss him. _Anything_. Even a quick, chaste kiss and nothing more would have been preferable to this inescapable sense that he had completely lost interest in hr.

He pushed her away and backhanded her, but it was light and not particularly impassioned. He seemed more bored by her than anything.

"Know your place, Bellatrix," he told her, and he said it in such a way that she could not imagine he was anything more than vaguely annoyed that she was still there and taking up his time.

"My Lord." Bellatrix's voice broke and her hands began to shake. She reached out to grab for him. "My Lord, my place is _here_! It has been fourteen years, and I have missed you so… surely you would not deny me," she added, fighting to sweeten her voice. "Not when I am your most faithful… not when I so pleased you in the past."

"So you did. But that was fourteen years ago. Fourteen years is a very long time ago, and much has changed since then. One of the things that has changed is that I will no longer need your…" His lip curled slightly, "services."

Bellatrix's throat felt so tight that she could barely breathe. Everything about the way that the Dark Lord was delivering this news, this crippling rejection, made it seem as if he had orchestrated it to be as painful as possible. Expressions of hatred would have been easier to take.

"Oh, come now, be mature." There was a hint of irritation in his voice now. "You vowed to serve me in whatever ways I should need, and I no longer need you to bed me."

"M- my Lord, it is only that- that I looked forward to… oh, surely just one more night would be… my Lord, you–" A few tears spilled down Bellatrix's cheeks and she wiped them away hastily, mortified that she had been made to cry by something that the Dark Lord clearly saw as inconsequential.

He sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you would approach matters pertaining to sex sensibly," he muttered, more to himself than to her. Bellatrix wanted to respond – wanted to respond sharply, even – but didn't dare, and didn't know what she would say in any case. She understood that she wasn't been sensible, but how could she be expected to be? So she sat quietly and with her head down, and tried not to make any noises that might betray her distress.

"Oh, very well," the Dark Lord said at last. "Stop your moping, Bellatrix; I cannot have my finest Death Eater pouting like a child. You may lie with me as a reward for admirable services. It will not be a regular occurrence, but when you have done well, I suppose that sex is as suitable a reward as any."

He spoke so clinically, so dismissively. Bellatrix had never known him to speak that way before. In the early days, he had almost been romantic, in his peculiar and reserved way. He had always used phrases like _make love_ and _go to bed_ – albeit with a tinge of sarcasm and scorn – terms that distanced him (and her) from the messy and overly physical details of the act itself. He would never have used such a bald and ugly phrase as _have sex_ in the past, and he would never have suggested that it should be given as a reward. That was one step above making himself into a whore, a prize to be won, a commodity. In the past, he had made it clear that their relationship was a privilege for her, and he had always implied that his interest in her stemmed from her uses as a Death Eater, but he would never have openly stated that it was a direct reward for work well done.

"Is that not satisfactory, Bellatrix?" he asked. His tone was dangerous. There was only one answer that she could give and hope to escape punishment – though no punishment could ever have hurt her so fiercely as the things he had already said to her.

"It is more than satisfactory, my Lord," she said hollowly. "I thank you, my Lord."

"Good. Now you may go." He pointed at the door, and Bellatrix, burning with shame and hurt, with her head lowered and her cheeks hot, trudged out.

Rodolphus was in their bedroom already, and she thought she saw disappointment on his face that mirrored that which she felt.

"Didn't the Dark Lord want you?" he asked bluntly. If she had been any less distressed, she might have snapped at him, but she couldn't muster the energy.

"No," she said quietly. "No, he didn't."

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
